Power Play
by Khiori
Summary: As Zatanna begins a potentially deadly magical investigation, she finds she may have trouble coming with Batman. And need the help of an old friend.


The old sleigh bells hanging from the cracked leather strap swung as she pushed open the dirty glass door, making the corner of her red mouth quirk wryly as the sound traditionally associated with Christmas jingled in the middle of August.

The forty-something dishwater blonde woman sitting on the beat up wood stool behind the register looked up just long enough to give Zatanna a shop keeper's traditional evil eye to a customer suspected to be window shopping rather than buying and then went back to her spine cracked romance book. "You break it, you bought it, sweetheart. And I have video surveillance."

"Yes, ma'am." Zatanna murmured, her amusement growing. For a moment, her blue eyes glinted silvery in the shadowy light with a sudden magical mischief impulse but she resisted it with the firm control of a long time Magi. Causing trouble to villains was one thing. Causing trouble to civilians, however, was _entirely_ another.

Even rude shop keepers.

Zatanna looked down at herself in worn black jeans and an old rock concert t-shirt and smiled pleased as she carefully touched the talisman that hung around her neck. Under the caress of her finely manicured fingers the magic bound inside seemed to purr for her.

And in this case, she could excuse the woman's rudeness.

Thanks to the overdone dramatic tendencies of modern movies and the glittery eyed fantasy writers that encouraged them, most people held the erroneous belief that objects of Power _looked_ the part. Engraved with arcane symbols and incantations, intricately wrought in silver and gemstones, ancient, ethereal or vaguely sinister even. Which she had to admit, was occasionally actually accurate. Even magic users could succumb to pretty and ego—or the desire to _impress_ at formal events.

But the real truth, and the absolute danger, of objects of Power was that they could literally be _anything_. And the more mundane, the more ordinary, the more overlookable an object was, the better it hid itself from unwanted eyes. Which was, of course, exactly what an experienced Magi _preferred_. Because nothing was as _dangerous_ in the hands of the amateur or the ignorant as a magical object of Power.

So it was no surprise that it always gave the magical community a collective anxiety attack when the occasional movie or writer actually depicted the truth. Fortunately for everyone, the general public tended to forget about those plain moments of truth rather quickly in between the glorious flash bang imagery of those stories and everyone was the _safer_ for it.

Personally, Zatanna suspected someone in the filming industry was Magi and doing a little _extra_ to encourage it. After all, it had worked in the book production realm quite neatly for generations. The wheel didn't need to be reinvented, merely resized occasionally.

She brushed her long black hair back over her shoulders so the soft curls she had put into the ends wouldn't tangle with the talisman. Outside in full sunlight it looked utterly ordinary. Here in the dim light of the shop it looked outright cheap, like one of those horrid extra 'gifts' low end companies sent along with your package when you ordered from their overseas catalog.

It had originally been a child's necklace, mostly plastic and slightly garish in only the six year old costume jewelry sort of way. Fake rainbowed 'pearls'. Fake glittering 'gems'. Fake already slightly peeling 'gold'.

And now it carried one of the _strongest_ camouflage spells she had seen.

But with a unique twist.

The wearer's image was altered to what the viewer would find _least_ of interest.

Brilliant really.

Operating on _dismissal_ or _disregarding_ of its wearer rather than on _hiding_. Which meant it hadn't required the much larger magical effort to imbue. Which in turn then meant it also wasn't now carrying the much larger magical Power signature such an effort would normally leave behind. And _that_ meant only a higher level magic wielder would even realize what it _was_ —a genuine object of Power.

It was almost like built in security.

Zatanna was a curious creature. She came by it naturally, of course, as she was, after all, _Magi_. And she could not help but wonder more than a little uneasily who had created this innocuous little treasure.

And then _lost_ it.

Because one of the other truths of objects of Power is that they were utterly _precious_ to anyone who had even a drop of magical heritage.

Partly because they were one of the few actually _tangible_ legacies of magic.

But mostly because they were the tools in peace and the weapons in war that anyone with access to Power could use to change even mighty Fate _itself_.

Like diamonds and gold to the mundane world, objects of Power were the treasure of the magical one.

And yet, she had found this talisman at a _garage sale_. In a battered cardboard box; thrown in amongst the chewed on Legos, action figures missing various appendages, and Barbie dolls with ratted, snarled hair.

It had cost her _five cents_.

She still wasn't sure if she should be giggling hysterically at getting an object of Power for a nickel or if she should be _freaking out entirely_.

Especially when the harried mother trying to run the garage sale had mentioned that her two and half year old had picked it out of another box of discarded toys at an estate sale the town over. A box, the mother had here shaken her head wearily amused at the imaginary antics of children, the little toddler had solemnly declared had been _full of magic toys_.

Zatanna's eyes had widened and, with a swiftly murmured spell to encourage cooperation, she had very calmly asked for the address.

Tiny children were often some of the best dowsers of Power in existence.

She had slipped the talisman into her pocket and, once out of sight, had teleported instantly to Shadowcrest. The necklace had gone into her warded jewelry box and she had gone to her massive arcane library to do some quick research. But nothing had marked either the location or anyone who had ever owned the place as anything of magical note. _Ever_.

So either the toddler had expressed a moment of mere imagination or that necklace and box were very much in the wrong place.

 _Either unintentionally or very deliberately._

It made her insatiably curious and completely leery at the same time. So when she teleported to the address the mother had given her, she was careful to take a few moments to study everything. But nothing had pinged any of her senses, especially not any of her magical ones. There was only the fading resonance of something magical having been here, like a mental vanishing scent of something deliciously exotic—and that was no doubt left over from the object or objects of Power themselves.

Other than that, it was utterly an _ordinary_ suburban neighborhood all the way down to the two car garages and white painted fences.

Some horror flick scenes passed through her mind at that point and Zatanna had winced, invoking a protection incantation just in case.

She had knocked on the door and the irritated old man who opened it had taken one look at her and had almost had to be resuscitated.

Zatanna found herself blushing even now.

Being a professional illusionist made her sometimes more brutally honest than she should be with herself, but she wasn't _blind_. She knew even amongst the League she was considered a truly sultry beauty. She just honestly hadn't thought her ability to mesmerize desire worked out of fishnets and black leather and in faded jeans and worn vintage rock t-shirts.

It both pleased her feminine vanity and irritated her immensely. Which was why she was wearing the talisman _now_. Because when she wasn't on stage, she didn't _want_ attention.

Usually because it ended up in climatic magical battles on dimensional planes.

Or really bad dates.

But it saved her time _then_. Because the old man had been _more than happy_ to tell her about the box.

It had been an eclectic mix of toys from his childhood and 'all the plastic crap' the neighborhood kids were constantly leaving all over the sidewalks 'these days'.

And that worried Zatanna. _Badly_.

One, because the talisman was _definitely_ in the last category. And two, because it suggested someone was practically _littering_ the area with possible objects of Power. Objects that children would be _inclined_ to pick up and _play with_.

It still made her shiver.

Nothing _good_ could be intended with that and she mentally moved the necklace and its companions from lost to _deliberately_ _placed_.

It was beginning to look like freaking out was the wisest option.

Only the necklace had sold, the rest of the box had been taken to an antique shop at the other end of town where the vintage toys had fetched him a 'measly fifty bucks' and the woman had wanted him to haul away the rest. Which, of course, he had refused to do seen as she had 'practically cheated' him already.

He had invited her back anytime.

Again, she had returned to Shadowcrest. This time to search her maps of the _entire_ area. But there were no magical wielders known to have claimed territory there. _Nor on any of the adjacent dimensional planes nearest it._ Which meant either someone had recently moved in and was strong enough to hide from the magic of her maps, which meant _seriously_ bad news; or the objects of Power had been brought into the area by someone.

She hoped it was the later or there was a very good chance this would end in blood.

Zatanna had decided to bring the necklace with her to the antique shop. With the objects no longer where they had been left, she might not be the only one looking for that box. If this was some sort of elaborate vengeful hexing or even some higher level vile mischief, someone might not be _too happy_ their traps had been unset. It would only be a matter of time before they figured it out and followed the same trail she had. If she was unlucky, they might not be that far behind. Being _disregarded_ could mean she had just enough time to escape.

Or attack.

Besides, _finding_ worked best if you had something or someone that belonged to what you were trying to locate. Objects of Power made by the same magic would respond to each other. If there was any credence to the little girl's description of the other toys, the talisman she now wore would give her the fastest ability to track down the others. If there wasn't, well, at least it would save her from wasting any more time.

Normally, she loved wandering antique shops as much as she did old used book stores. Her father had always taken the time to bring her to them in the cities they toured their illusion show in. There had been something almost _secretive_ about the cramped dusty shelves of forgotten relics that called out to the magic in her blood, enticing her to wonder and imagine with the hidden lives of untold mysterious strangers. Sometimes she could get flashes of actual memories that had never been hers. And later, after she had lost her father and began their tour cycles alone, sometimes ones that _were_.

This time, however, there was nothing entrancing about the shop, not with worry riding with growing darkness on her shoulders, and Zatanna casually eased deeper into aisles, pretending a collector's interest in dead fly filled milk bottles and moldering books on the proper social etiquette of housewives in the forties while she took a cautious sharp eyed look around.

But other than herself, and the rude woman now thoroughly engrossed in her battered romance book again, the place was empty of customers.

 _Good._

She put a few more crammed and dirty aisles between them. Then stopped.

A locator spell would be easiest. But she had no idea what kind of objects she was about to meet. If they were fairly benign like her necklace, it wouldn't be a problem. Yet, if even _one_ of the others had an instilled security ward to prevent unauthorized magical access, the moment the locator spell touched it all hell could break loose.

Possibly even _literally_.

And while the rude shop keeper wasn't on her Friends list, she wasn't on her hit list, either.

Best to go a bit more primitive and give herself plenty of chance to shut down any security features before they woke up and did something particularly nasty.

"Gniswod sdor emoc ot em," Zatanna whispered softly.

Instantly her copper dowsing rods were in her hands. She focused on the feel of the talisman around her neck, not the feel of the object _itself_ but the feel of the magic signature of the Power _within_ it. When she was certain she had it firmly in her mind, she concentrated her own Power into the rods and _reached_ out through them to find anything that had that same _feel_.

"Dnif," she said quietly, "Dnif."

The rods swiveled. Zatanna moved cautiously to the left.

It took twelve agonizingly slow minutes to work her way through the antique shop.

Not because the thing was that _big_ but because she didn't want to draw the shop keeper's attention by _hurrying_. And she didn't dare use her magic to pass through aisles rather than walking around them because of the chance of coming on the objects too fast to respond safely if something went wrong.

But she found them.

The cardboard box had been partially emptied; the old man's childhood toys had obviously already been pulled out for pricing. Probably outrageously, too, if the prices on the stuff already on the shelves were any measure. The rest however had been ignored and the entire thing had just been thumped into the garbage can nearest the back door, waiting for pick up day.

Apparently the woman wasn't into recycling.

And had no magical sensitivity _at all_.

Zatanna almost could not believe what her magic was telling her. Her pulse hammered in her ears and she actually felt a bit _faint_.

The entire two thirds of the box remaining were made up of nothing _except_ objects of Power.

It was _unreal_. Short of a multi-warded place like a Magi's vault or a heavily Old Power protected place like Shadowcrest, you simply did not _get_ this many magical objects in _one spot_. It just did not _happen_.

The little girl had been right.

 _It was a box full of magical toys._

This was unbelievably _bad_.

Zatanna got her breathing back under control and sent the rods back to Shadowcrest. Everything in her practically _screamed_ to grab the box and run, but her father had trained her well. She took a deep steadying breath and ever, _ever_ , so carefully, slowly and methodically tested the _entire_ pile of toys for the presence of _any_ sort of security ward. It was utterly nerve wracking pin point concentration very akin to a Bomb Squad's inspection of a suspicious device.

And as deadly important.

Because only a _third_ of the objects in the box held a security ward coiled tautly inside, triggered to lash out instant death at a magic wielder's physical touch, and Zatanna shook her slightly sweat soaked black haired head in rueful admiration of the vicious cunning mind behind it.

 _Clever._

A treasure pile like this would have tempted more than one Magi to instant careless greed. Even a more cautious but hungrily hurrying one who just tested one or a few of the objects, stood a very good chance to miss one of the dangerous ones until it was too late.

 _What the hell was going on?_

Someone had put a vault worthy trove of objects of Power designed to be of interest to children in a suburban neighborhood but had guarded against their removal not by mundanes but magic wielders. And with a Russian roulette style kill ward.

This made no sense at all.

Zatanna chewed her lip, trying to think.

Who was the intended target now? Children? Magi?

She rubbed her face hard. First things, first. She needed to determine exactly what each of these new objects did.

And there was only one good way to find out.

She needed to get all these objects of Power to Shadowcrest where she could safely reveal individually each one's strength level and magical intent within multiple wards heavy enough to properly contain any unpleasant surprises. Which, now given a kill ward presence; she rather expected at least some of them to have. And given how strong the dismissal talisman was, for all of its benign ability, it was definitely going to be _interesting_.

Like in the Chinese way.

Once she knew what everything _did_ , it wouldn't be too long before she knew who was their _target_. It was the whole means and ends things. If you hunted a Kryptonian, you usually used kryptonite. Traps, ambushes, and plans generally required a high degree of _specificity_ in order to be successful. Even ones erroneously dubbed 'random' still actually had specific brackets of intended targets which involved careful construction of events to ensure. The _Justice League_ instead of _Wonder Woman_. But once you had an _intended target_ , it was only a matter of working backward deductively to get to the one who was doing the _aiming_.

And _backwards_ was something that came second nature to her.

But she wasn't going to take any more risks than was absolutely necessary.

Testing one object was generally safe outside of Shadowcrest, as there weren't any of the conflicting magical interferences that came up when multiple Powered objects were in close proximity to each other. She'd been able to test the necklace easily. But trying to figure out which object in a pile was benign or deadly while also trying to deactivate randomly placed kill wards was closer akin to trying to navigate an active mine field at a dead run. Emphasis on the _dead_ part.

Better to take them to Shadowcrest and do it slower but safer. She had developed a certain fondness for living.

Zatanna quickly wove protective wrapping wards around the box, ensuring she could pick it up without possibly triggering anything bad just by her own physical magical proximity. When at last she felt her Power lock the box tightly within itself, she very carefully pulled it from the garbage, balancing it on one hip so she could take off the necklace and stuff it into a jean pocket.

Now was _not_ the time to be dismissed or disregarded.

Now was the time to get out of here before something went wrong. And with suspect objects of Power, if it did go wrong she could pretty much count on it to go _very_.

Assuming, of course, it already _hadn't_ and she just wasn't _aware_ of it yet.

 _Lovely thought._

Zatanna strode through the shop quickly, feeling her nerves beginning to tingle, and set the box ever so gently on the counter next to the register and put on a smoothly professional smile. "I would like to buy everything in the box."

Without the talisman's effects, the shop keeper instantly sat up, thumping her dog eared romance book aside and turned her entire pinch faced attention on her apparently actually _paying_ customer. And the box. Her eyes widened in disgusted outrage. "You went through my _garbage?_ "

Zatanna kept the urge to be sarcastic in control and maintained the smile. _Not the time._ A crisp twenty dollar bill appeared in her manicured fingers with all the natural magician's flourish of years of flamboyant card tricks. "For the _inconvenience_."

Greed now crossed the older woman's face and she pretended to take a closer look at the contents of the box. She sniffed airily. " _Well_ , I'll have you know that somebody must have put these in there by mistake, because these-"

Ordinarily Zatanna enjoyed taking on this antique business standard bartering con game, finding a perverse fun in playfully trying to out rob someone trying to rob her, but right now she was in no mood to play. She was beginning to get that 'in the crosshairs' feel between her shoulder blades that she recognized as her Sight telling her that things were realigning _and not in the best way for her_. The twenty instantly disappeared and a new fifty snapped into its place. Her red lipsticked professional smile now had very definite teeth in it. " _Were in the garbage._ Final offer." She warned softly. Magic stirred in her, responding hungrily and she let it stare out of her eyes.

The woman paled in sudden fear and took the fifty slowly with shaking fingers, scribbled out an old carbon copy receipt with a dying black pen, and locked the door loudly behind her the moment she was over the threshold.

Zatanna stood carefully still a moment in the August bright heat, idly listening to the incongruous Christmas jingle of the sleigh bells rocking back and forth against the finger smudged glass door behind her as she swept her surroundings for danger with magical scans. But the pot holed parking lot was empty except for herself, the shop keeper's dented blue Honda, and some discarded commuter trash of tire squashed paper coffee cups and crumpled up greasy fast food wrappers blowing listlessly in the quiet dry breeze. It was so empty she honestly expected something terrible to happen right then because it seemed only natural.

 _Huh_. _Again with the creepy horror movie thing._

She made a firm mental note to stop watching those and narrowed her blue eyes suspiciously at the innocent parking lot.

She could practically _feel_ a jinx coming.

 _Time to just get out of here before it catches up._

Zatanna inhaled to magically command herself to teleport to the heavily warded safety of Shadowcrest.

And that was exactly when a sleek black vintage Bentley rolled fast and hard into the parking lot and the jinx _did_.

She recognized it instantly from childhood memory. She had played hide-and-seek behind it once in the somber quiet of a massive garage in Gotham, when a stiff British butler took pity on a hurt little black haired girl who hadn't understood why her normally doting father suddenly had only time for a shadow eyed boy. She had laid a small hand on the lovingly polished and waxed black metal and her Sight had showed her memories of wind and sun and laughter on Sunday drives. The butler had looked at her a long quiet time when she told him what she had seen and the next time she came to the dark manor with her father for his lessons, there were cookies and milk waiting for her in the kitchen. And a slightly out of place looking boy to play with after her father's lessons.

And the Bentley became Batman's day ride.

Zatanna cursed, more in sudden grief than anger.

She didn't know if Alfred would still speak to her.

She knew the shadow eyed man the boy had grown into usually preferred _not_ to these days.

Zatanna sighed regretfully.

But truthfully, she genuinely _had_ thought it righted between them when he said he forgave her and began calling her 'Zee' again.

 _Foolish_ of her, really.

The man was a _master_ now of the psychological arts and had all the patience of every one of Huntress' Catholic _saints_ when it came to enacting a long term plan—and all the vengeful sense of Old World brutal justice of one of Wonder Woman's _Furies_ when he felt wronged.

And, oh, how he had felt _wronged_.

It had not mattered that she had only done what she truly believed to be the most right of a dark choice. Not then. Not since.

It was _not_ and would likely _never_ be, truly _righted_ between them. She had lost his trust and made him question himself, doubt, _fear_. And he was _Batman_.

Zatanna's magical abilities had only one true limit. Her _belief_. If she did not believe she _could_ , then she _couldn't_.

And so, just as he had built contingency plans for the others in the League, so he built one for her. The one whose father had taught him the arts of escape, sleight of hand, and illusion as part of his training for Batman. The one who had played with him as a childhood friend endless games of hide-and-seek through the dark lonely halls of his manor.

Except he hadn't _waited_ for her to actually turn against humanity to use it.

Or, apparently, he decided she as good as _already_ _had_.

That still _hurt_ actually.

It had been a while before she had consciously realized what was happening, why she was losing her hold upon Power. Then it had appalled her, terrified her, and enraged her even. His careful psychological manipulations in the League actually _almost_ succeeded in destroying her confidence _entirely_ —and with it, all her ability to work _magic_. She, a _natural born_ Magi, had almost become _mundane_.

It still woke her up shaking in cold sweats at night.

It had bitterly darkly amused her, once she had at last figured it out. After all, very few could claim to have scared the hell out of _Batman_. She supposed it was, in a way, a rather vicious backhanded compliment.

But that didn't mean she forgave _him_.

Or trusted _him_.

Zatanna's blue eyes chilled, narrowed dangerously.

He couldn't possibly be here to talk to _her_. She hadn't had any idea _she_ was going to be here, so there was no logical reason to think _he_ would have. And in spite of the mythos he deliberately created around his persona, Batman wasn't actually _omniscient_. He relied upon evidence, facts. Which meant that the only thing of any potential importance to Batman that he _could have known was here_ was exactly the same thing she had tracked down as well. The _box_.

Which meant he was here for the _objects of Power_.

And it wouldn't take much Great Detective deduction for him to figure out that one of his un-Friended old friends wasn't holding a new set of antique dishes in her arms.

 _Damn it._

The Bentley abruptly changed angles and picked up speed, heading now straight for her.

 _Fantastic_. This was going to be a problem.

Zatanna grimaced terribly.

Mundanes had _no_ business with objects of Power, and it was breathtakingly horrifically dangerous to everyone when they did. The thought of _Batman_ with objects of Power gave her as many warm fuzzy feelings as Power Girl felt over that Kryptonite ring he kept in one of the lead lined pouches on his utility belt. Which was to say _absolutely_ _none._

Batman's contingency plans had already brutally taught everyone _exactly_ what he thought of them. _As walking possibilities of evil._

If even _one_ of these objects of Power was a weapon or a tool that could be weaponized . . . .

Zatanna shuddered coldly and tightened her grip on the box hard enough to begin denting in the cardboard.

Was that why he was here? Expanding his arsenal? Or was he just hunting the same trail of possible seriously bad magical trouble she was and saw the acquisition of the objects as clues first and a nice strategic bonus later?

She didn't know. But either way, coming _personally_ meant he didn't _trust_ anyone else to do it for him and that meant he knew enough about the magical danger to have him _seriously spooked_.

She stared at the black gleaming Bentley hurtling towards her in the August sunshine.

Enough that he _hadn't waited_ for night to move.

This fortune card really did _not_ bode well. Just how not well, she didn't yet know.

But what she _did_ know from rather bitter experience was that a _spooked_ Batman was a _take no chances_ Batman. And given his past brutally direct tendencies in the League that meant the odds were lotto-winning good that he would simply try and _take_ the objects from her, rather than risk her _denying_ him permission to possess them.

Which, she had to reluctantly admit, was a pretty dead on accurate estimation of her most likely actual response. Since the thought of putting unknown objects of Power into the hands of someone who lacked the magic to _control_ them, _protect_ them or even properly _use_ them, was _completely_ _insane_.

The fact that she also truly didn't _trust_ him with objects of Power, only solidified her resolve further not to turn them over to him, because there was _no way in hell_ she was going to give him _more_ possible weapons to use against the League in his Batman brooding paranoia contingency plans.

Or against _her_.

Not that he would be likely to see her wisdom in this decision involving him, because he hadn't before, _now had he?_ And Batman didn't take _no_ for an answer.

So what would it be this time? High voltage taser to the throat? Some sort of magical constraints? A hidden parallel prison? What _new_ nastily clever neutralizing contingency plan did Batman have for her now that his prior one had at last been successfully countered?

Sharp anger tightened Zatanna's heart at the dark memories of long seemingly endless black nights of weeping in despair as her Power slipped slowly away and she became less and less _herself_.

Her blue eyes hardened to brittle ice beneath storm lowering black lashes and she could feel the magic in her crackling dangerously like lightening beneath her whitening skin.

She wasn't the same woman she once was and she had the scars in her soul to prove it.

This was _magic_ business, which made it _her_ business, and _she_ had an investigation to pursue.

She had taken her own Power back. And she was now far stronger than she had _ever been_.

Zatanna smiled then with deadly sweetness, and swept the black Bentley a perfect exaggerated stage exit bow, knowing it would totally infuriate the man inside that he wouldn't be able to stop her from teleporting.

"Tropelet em ot tsercwodahS, won!"

If she needed help to solve this, Zatanna already _knew_ exactly who she would ask.

And it definitely _wouldn't_ be Batman.

No, it would be the man who had dared to stand beside her through all too many horrors when no one else had.

The man she knew she could _trust_ to have her back even when he drove her absolutely _crazy_.

 _Constantine._


End file.
